


Find the Distance

by ColebaltBlue



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Horseback Riding AU, Yeah I don't know either, not!beastiality, sherlock holmes is a horse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 12:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1857285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColebaltBlue/pseuds/ColebaltBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horseback Riding Alternate Universe.</p>
<p>John Watson is a former CIC**** (topmost level of Eventing) rider, injured in a freak accident that killed his horse and out of a career he spent his whole life training for. A chance encounter with an old friend at Criterion Riding Academy led him to meet a nice lady with a farm for let, a no-name trainer who just needed some help, and the most talented yet crazy horse he had ever met - his name was The Consulting Detective, but we just called him Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I don't know either. It all started because I was giggling to myself over how absurd this would be. Then I mentioned it to a fellow fan. Who said, "you totally should!" Then we both giggled over not!beastiality and made up tags that I could tag it with. Then I said that I didn't have the energy for a big long multi-chaptered work, but I threw this together because what's the use of talking about it if you don't follow through? So then this happened. And I posted here for 24 hours awhile ago. Then I took it down, because it's rather embarrassing. Then I found out about this: http://earlgreytea68.livejournal.com/420191.html. And of course I hunted down a semi-appropriate prompt. Because dude, all I needed was an excuse to post this again. A justification for its ridiculousness. And now this note might actually be longer than the fic itself.

I don't remember much of the accident that nearly ended my riding career before it even had a chance to really get going. Eventing is dangerous. Galloping 22 miles an hour over 45 jumps and 4 miles? Thrilling, exhilarating, heart-stopping deadly fun and I loved every second of it. Sure there are two other events, dressage and stadium jumping, but that's about precision, control, technicality. But I lived for the cross-country phase. Nearly died for it too.

Fences 6 and 7 at the Badminton horse trials. Horses had been drifting right at that spot, and approached the obstacle with that in mind. Something happened though, I'm still not sure what and I've refused to watch the video from the accident, and Maiwand went into the flag marker, breaking it and sending it plunging into the ground where he promptly came down right on it. Then we went into a rotational fall and I ended up underneath him. They told me that he was dead before the vet had even made it to us, that I had to be airlifted out, that my heart had stopped more than once, collapsed lung, separated shoulder, and a souvenir from Maiwand in the shape of a horseshoe on my thigh and torn sartorius.

My physical therapist, Murray, put my body back together, but he couldn't do anything for my mind. Eventing isn't just a physical test of strength, endurance, and control of the horse and rider, it's a mental test as well. I was back in the saddle before I could even really walk, but the first time I pointed the old schoolmaster at something taller than 2' I froze. I was on the other side of the obstacle, gasping for breath, fingers wound so tight in my horse's mane that they had to be pried open by the groom. Murray said words like, PTSD, panic attack, therapy, but I couldn't really hear him past the roar in my ears. If I couldn't even jump a pole on a set of blocks, there was no way I could face a solid fence. I thanked the trainer at Berkshires for all that they had done, packed my bags, and left for London the next day.

I was rescued from teaching leadline lessons to snotty brats at Criterion Riding Academy by my old friend Stamford, who ignored my protestations and dragged me to an dingy run down barn and introduced me to an old friend of his. Montague Stables a one-man operation with only a handful of horses, but Greg Lestrade shook my hand and promptly dragged me inside to meet the skinniest most awkward looking dark bay gelding I had ever seen. There was something in his eyes when he looked at the horse and said, "someday, if we're very lucky, that horse will win the grand slam." I believed him. His name was The Consulting Detective, but he called him Sherlock.

It was three years later and we had moved to a sweet little place owned by Mrs. Hudson and set up shop as Baker Stables. It was just Lestrade and I with a groom named Molly Hooper and a handful of horses we had pulled out of obscurity. And today was my very first time out since my accident.

I ignored the looks I was getting, the whispers that followed me about and just focused on myself and Sherlock. Dressage had not been a disaster yesterday, but our true test would be the cross country phase, run today. Our first year together we had not jumped a single thing, together or apart. Lestrade stripped my riding down to the basics and I rebuilt my confidence one circle at a time. I didn't jump at all for over a year, instead we went for trail rides and behaved like stupid children, playing egg and spoon races all over the hay field.

Today would be our true test. I had only been jumping again for about 6 months and even then, mostly gymnastic exercises set at under three foot. When I had expressed my concern to Lestrade he had shook his head and said, "you know how to jump, John, it's riding that's your problem."

So here we were, warmed up and about ready to go in our very first show. I had questioned the wisdom of this countless times since we signed up, was a 1-star event really the place to be testing a green horse with a damaged rider? You have to start somewhere, said Lestrade. I scratched my knuckles into Sherlock's neck, murmuring soothing words, as much for him as for me. I could feel him thrumming with excitement under me, yet still strangely calm. He was still, just his ears flicking to and fro, eyes focused on the course in front of him.

I touched my calf to him and we were off. The galloping half-seat came natural to me. This was just like the trails we had galloped for miles back home. The first fence loomed in front of me. It was an easy simple vertical log. I thought of the log on the beach we had sailed over not two months before as I pressed my knuckles into Sherlock's neck and flew.

Then it was a bank, a skinny, a corner, a brush, a combination, a water jump. It was gorgeous. I felt as if we were floating above it all. Our first long gallop and I grinned, "good boy," I said, "brilliant boy," and his ears flicked back at me, listening. He was steady and calm and as we approached the final obstacle I knew it, I knew that I was riding the best and the wisest horse I would ever have the pleasure of knowing and that the two of us, together, had the potential to win it all.


End file.
